Seven
by Junsui Kegasu
Summary: They had survived. And they could only move on. Shuuhei x Renji


Seven hours after the final words had fallen, the final truths thrown at a baffled population, he came to him for the first time. Not for the first time in his life, Renji didn't know what to do. He was used to that feeling of late; it had begun to feel strange when things were going okay (all five precious minutes where Rukia was in his arms and she was saved and this was it this was it… then they dropped the bomb) and now he was here with someone he had thought of as so strong against his shoulder. He wasn't crying, per say, but he was using him as a pillar of strength nonetheless.

He, too, was drained. He wondered why; he had actually gotten off pretty good. It was a draining experience, he supposed, for everybody, directly affected or otherwise. Even the lowliest Shinigami, hell, even the academy students knew by now. Everybody. And it had only been seven hours, and here they were, among the deepest affected. Here he was holding a man who he hadn't ever pictured shedding a tear in his entire life. He hadn't shed a tear while his face was sliced open and they all were so sure they were going to die… but this…

Well, he wasn't crying. But this was as close to crying as Hisagi Shuuhei got, Renji was sure, and he would respect it for what it was. And so, in respect, he smoothed a rough hand over the material of Shinigami uniform covering Shuuhei's back for a moment before the silence became too much.

"Wanna go grab a drink?"

It was the start of a beautiful relationship.

--

Seven days after the event had taken place, long enough for it to really sink in and long enough for restoration plans to unfold from their imaginary stores of "In Case of an Emergency" labeled drawers, the ritual was the same. As vice-captains, they worked the same hours, and even though now Shuuhei had no free day, since he was acting captain, Renji would always wait for him to get off duty before they made their nightly pilgrimage to the bar.

It was so much of a routine that neither of them had a second thought about it, or often a recollection other than the topic of conversation. Yet, it was also new enough a routine that they didn't see it as so habitual that it could be harmful. It was still early, they thought. There was still allowance for this, they were both sure.

Well, at least Shuuhei made no complaint when the alcohol was set before him. Renji had thought that perhaps he was an eager drinker, but nothing compared to how fast Shuuhei accepted that first shot and downed it. Especially not in those first seven days, he would later muse. They all had their demons to chase, and Renji supposed that the best way to chase one was with another. Others would have disagreed, but…

Seeing the look on Shuuhei's face four hours after the first shot had quenched a dry throat, Renji had no doubt that this was the best way to go at it. Through his own blurred gaze, the scarred man just looked so peaceful that he couldn't help but feel like maybe the world was going to be okay after all.

And if he could get a feeling like that from a mere expression…

And if that mere expression could be caused by a simple drinking session…

Then as far as Renji's alcohol clouded mind was concerned, everything was going to be just fine.

--

Seven months after the destruction of Soul Society, the realm was doing okay. Buildings were being rebuilt by optimistic hands and even though the future definitely held grimness, they were making the best of what they could. Attacks had occurred on the human realm, and what was once a slow preparation sped up in the face of harm to the world they as Shinigami swore to protect.

Renji had returned from Hueco Mundo and stayed in Soul Society henceforth, but Ichigo, Rukia, and even the exiled Urahara went often. Through these small efforts, they had worn down the enemy bit by bit since the large chip made in the first attack as well as gotten a general knowledge of the environment.

Seven months after it was declared, Soul Society was going off to war. Almost every able-bodied Shinigami was going, though a few of the elite stayed in Soul Society as means of defense. But every captain and vice-captain was on the front, where they would surely be needed to face the greatest adversary the afterlife had ever known. The plan was risky, the third division had kept saying, but they had an obligation, and they would fill it.

For Shuuhei, Renji knew, it was more than just his job. And Shuuhei wasn't one of those to get too personal in this business. Before he left to gather his own battalion, he put a hand to his friend's back. Shuuhei looked over his shoulder and pulled together a reassuring smile so hastily pinned up that it fell as soon as it got there. They both knew the exponential consequences that this mission could possibly bring.

"You know the good luck chant, right?" Renji asked, as serious as he'd ever been in his life. Shuuhei waited for a moment, trying to recall it in his mind, and nodded. "We might need it," he continued, smiling again. Shuuhei didn't bother to pin his back up.

"You're perfectly right," Shuuhei said back. "But it might take more than that."

Renji shook his head and squeezed Shuuhei's shoulder. "Well, it's definitely gonna take more optimism than that." The smile Shuuhei flashed this time was real, if small and fading fast. He turned to face his younger friend fully and set his hand on Renji's shoulder the way the redhead was doing for him. Together, they whispered the chant like some kind of prayer. By the end, Renji only just noticed how close their faces were by the time the same lips Renji had watched kiss alcohol a thousand times pressed against his own.

There was a moment of absolutely no thought at all; just action, and then the bell rang signaling the departure of the battalions. Shuuhei jerked away and without a word, sped off to his own troops. Renji stood like he was in another world for a minute, until the oncoming rush of troops set his mind back to where it should have been and he, too, scurried off to his men.

But he knew - even when his own blood coated them, or the blood of others, or so much blood that he lost count - his lips would never stop tingling like this so long as he lived.

And if that was the case, he had extra determination to come back alive.

Hopefully, Shuuhei did, too.

--

Seven years after the greatest and only betrayal Soul Society has ever known, those specific events and even many of the war have already been warped to legendary proportions out in the Rukongai. Even among the younger generation in Seireitei, some stories come up that those who participated in that terrible time are absolutely appalled at. Some glare, some scream, and others just give enigmatic smiles and like to think that maybe it was that epic, that heroic.

Seven hundred brave souls, serving their world, their cause, and their leaders died in that war. This included two vice captains and three captains. It was a short war as far as wars go, but the battles were long and often seemingly endless.

In fact, if those survivors thought about it for long periods of time using anything but the cute legends children have come up with, the old terror often starts to return. And of course, there are those days of solemnity.

Today was one of those days. The seventh anniversary of the end of that war, of the final moment when a blade finally pierced the untouched sanction of Aizen Sousuke's heart, his rancid blood staining the hands of the hero and mingling with that of his many underlings. Everybody had something to regret.

With seven hundred people lost in ranks like the Shinigami, everybody lost somebody. Or more than one somebody.

Renji didn't go to temples very much. Shuuhei did occasionally, but he told Renji that he preferred the quieter, more personal location of the grave of that still-unknown person who died without justice. The grave represented many that never had the chance to exist, that would hold bodies too mangled to give proper funerals to.

On this day, Shuuhei lit seven sticks of incense one by one, and slowly. Renji stood just behind him, a hand on his shoulder as much a thing of support and security as it was a plea for the reciprocation of both. The sticks of incense were stuck into the moist ground and the pair watched the translucent smoke twirl into the air like a sorrowful song. When Shuuhei bowed his head, Renji followed, and they prayed to the afterlife of the afterlife for those they had lost.

Komamura-taichou, in that horrific battle against the one man so many had trusted for guidance and justice.

Kyouraku-taichou, protecting his lifelong friend and teacher from what obviously was a fatal blow.

Zaraki-taichou, in the most spectacular, eleventh division death he could have ever wanted.

Ayasegawa Yumichika soon following his captain, because the eleventh division always did things together and if they lost, they never lost alone.

Hinamori-kun, who had come so far from the lost cause in a hospital bed. Who had never even gotten the chance to avenge herself, her heart, to the person who deserved to be pierced by specifically her blade.

Kira-kun, who had proved his true loyalties to Soul Society more often than he needed to, but always just needed to make sure.

The seventh stick sat forlorn and away from the others, for he was being mourned for another reason. Tousen Kaname would not be mourned for being lost in the war, Renji knew, but being lost as the person known before that dreadful event.

And when those seven sticks of incense lined up like that, it was very easy to feel like you had lost everything and everyone that you had ever cared about. It made Renji feel like the kid who had lost every friend he had known except one all over again. He knew Shuuhei felt the same way. They stood in silence for a long while before turning away and leaving those memories for the time being, to let their memory slowly dissolve into Soul Society as the smoke curling from those sticks lighted to them.

They had survived.

And they could only move on.


End file.
